Stories to read in the dark
by iheartaliens
Summary: Ok so this isn't a Harry potter Fanfic sry its just a stupid folk lure! or is it that info is in the eyes of the beholder just remember one thing Dont! Think about this 3 days in a row & yes this is a Crackfic i think its called lots of scary stories!
1. Bloody mary returns

Bloody Mary Returns!

My stepmother was vile. I guess most kids think that when their father remarries. But in this case, it was true. She only married Father because he was rich, and she hated children. There were three of us – me (Marie), my middle brother Richard and my youngest brother Charles. We were the price my stepmother Gerta paid for being rich. And we were all that stood between her and inheriting Father's money when he died. So she took steps against us.

She sent my youngest brother Charles away to boarding school overseas. It had a good, scholarly reputation, but it also had the reputation for being a hard school that was full of bullies and strict discipline. Not a place where a delicate child like Charles, who had been sickly as a baby, would thrive. He was miserable there. Somehow, Gerta contrived to keep him there for all but the summer holidays, and when he came home the first year he was pale and thin with dark circles under his eyes that looked like bruises. He cried – he actually cried! – when Father told him he had to go back to the school. But Father didn't listen to him. Gerta thought it would be good for Charles to go there, and so Charles went.

I did everything I could – encouraging letters and daily phone calls – until Gerta said it was too expensive and restricted calls to five minutes once a month. I even got Father to book me a ticket to Europe so I could visit Charles. Gerta was enraged when she found out. Her blue eyes went so cold it made chills run up my spine, and her pink mouth thinned into a bitter line that bade ill for me since I had dared to interfere. Two days before my plane left for Europe, the school called and told us that Charles had climbed up to the tallest tower and flung himself off. He was dead.

Father was shocked, of course, and Gerta was quietly triumphant. For a few months, Father paid more attention to Richard and myself then he had since our mother died. But Gerta was beautiful and had winning ways about her that soon drew my Father's attention away. And now that one of her hated step-children was dead, she focused on another. Poor Richard was next.

Richard was a sturdy chap who was about to enter high school, and he was really into sports. He would have thrived at the boarding school that had killed Charles. So Gerta sent him to an arts school instead. He hated it, but Gerta had told Father he had "talent", so there he went. (You'd think my Father would have learned his lesson with Charles!) But Richard was a survivor, and he grimly practiced piano and violin when he would rather have played soccer and football. But Gerta was clever. She introduced Richard to a couple of high school boys who were everything Richard craved to be – rich, popular, on the football team. And into drugs. Gerta made sure Richard had a very large allowance, and kept increasing it as Richard was drawn deeper and deeper under the influence. Until one day Richard overdosed, and Gerta only had one step-child left. Me.

I was sure (sure!) that Gerta knew Richard was doing drugs in his room that day. She knew he was ill and possibly dying in there. If she'd "found" him even ten minutes sooner, his life would have been saved. So said the doctor, and I believed him. But Father wouldn't believe me. He was angry whenever I said anything against Gerta, and told me to hold my tongue. Still, I knew I was next, and I was sure that Father would not live long after willing his fortune over to his wife. I decided that if Gerta got too bad, I would run away and live secretly with my aunt in New Jersey until I turned 18.

From the moment Richard's body was found in his room, I forced myself to be a model child. My homework was done on time, I was polite to Gerta and all her friends, I went on all the family excursions with Gerta and Father – even the dangerous ones like shark-fishing. You can be sure that I took care to be "sea-sick" indoors and stayed away from the edge of the boat. Gerta was clever with her tricks. Everyone thought it was an accident the time we were out shopping and I fell onto the subway in front of an oncoming train. I managed to roll out of the way on time, but it was way too close for comfort.

I had almost decided to run away when my father brought me the sad news that my aunt in New Jersey had died suddenly in her sleep, poisoned by person or persons unknown. I was appalled. How had Gerta known? But she had – I could tell from the smirk on her face.

I went to my room that night and locked myself in to think. I could run away, but the money wouldn't last long. And I'd need to finish high school or my chances of getting a good job were nil. Besides, Gerta would still be out there somewhere. If she could hire someone to poison my only living relative (besides Father), she could hire someone to kill me, whether I was living at home or not.

There was only one thing I could think of. And it was a terrible thing. A family secret passed down from my Mother's side for many generations. It involved a witch named Bloody Mary, who had once tried to kill my many times great grandmother and use the child's blood to make herself young and beautiful forever. The witch had been stopped by the child's father (my many times great grandfather) in the nick of time, and the witch had cursed him as she burned at the stake. Cursed his mirror, and the mirrors of all the men who had condemned her to death at the stake, so that anyone saying her name in front of those mirrors would invoke her vengeful spirit.

The story had gotten mixed up over the years, as it was passed down first in their village and then all over the country. These days, school kids everywhere scared themselves silly chanting Bloody Mary's name in front of darkened mirrors during sleepover parties, and nothing happened to them. So no one really believed in the curse. Of course, no one knew the real story of Bloody Mary. That was a deep secret handed down by the villagers of long ago. But I was a direct descendant, and I knew how to summon the witch. You had to use a mirror owned by someone in the direct blood-line of one of the original families that lived in Bloody Mary's village. And the witch's name must be spoken by candlelight a certain number of times in their native tongue.

It was an evil thing to do, I knew. But it was the only way to save my life. It was either Gerta or me. If I didn't fight back, I was dead. So I took my hard earned money and went out to a specialty store to buy hand-dipped, beeswax candles. Black ones. I followed my mother's directions carefully, placing them at certain intervals around the living room so that they reflected in the huge mirror behind the couch. Then I lit each one, speaking the spell passed down in my mother's family. And I waited. Father was away on a business trip, and Gerta was out at a party with her latest boyfriend. She came home late, and scolded me for staying up to study. Her voice was playful and light – I hated that voice. It made her sound like she was nice. But there was also a note of suspicion underlying her words, and she stared hard at the flickering black candles.

"Holding a séance, little Marie?" she asked, emphasizing the word little, knowing I hated when she called me that.

"I just like working by candlelight," I said mendaciously, turning a page in my text book.

Gerta frowned. "You know, little Marie, I think it's time we had a talk," she said, walking over to the mirror behind the couch and primping her hair.

"Yes," I said softly. "We should. You killed my brothers. And my aunt. But I won't let you kill me."

Gerta laughed. "As if you stood a chance against me!" she said, fluffing her long blond hair up behind her shoulders.

I spoke the name of Bloody Mary in the native tongue of my ancestors. Once. Twice. Three times. Inside the mirror, the image of Gerta burst into flames, and another face looked out. It was the malevolent face of a twisted old crone, ruined with age, and altogether evil. I ducked behind the chair as Gerta gave a scream of sheer terror, her eyes fixed on the witch. As I watched from my hiding place, heat burst forth from the mirror, blistering her beautiful alabaster skin. I could hear the flames roaring as the witch laughed evilly and held out her arms toward my step mother.

"Gerta," crooned Bloody Mary. "Come to me, Gerta."

And she took my step mother into her arms.

Gerta's terrified scream was suddenly cut off. The flames disappeared as suddenly as they had come. When I peeked out from behind the couch, Gerta and Bloody Mary were gone.

I called Father at his hotel the next morning to tell him that Gerta hadn't slept at home. (Well, it was true!) He wasn't pleased. He called a few of her friends from his hotel room, and quickly discovered she had been carrying on with another man. With several, if the truth be known. Father hated infidelity. He flew home at once to confront Gerta, but she was still missing; presumed run away with one of her flames.

Somehow, Father managed to divorce Gerta without ever trying to find her. And since she had no family in the area except us, everyone accepted the cover story, and no one ever tried to locate her. Gerta was gone for good. And Father and I were safe at last.


	2. White wolf

**The White Wolf**

She snapped awake out of a deep sleep, screaming aloud in terror. In her nightmare, a large white wolf had been chasing her around and around the house, gaining on her with every step until it finally pounced on her and ripped out her throat. She lay shaking for hours, unable to sleep after such a terrifying dream. But morning finally arrived, and the day was completely normal. Celia forgot all about her dream, until the moment her parents reminded her that they would be going out that night to celebrate their anniversary. Celia turned milk-white. In her dream, the white wolf had come to kill her while her parents were out celebrating their anniversary! She started shaking and begging them not to go. Her parents were astonished at her behavior, and finally shamed her into staying home alone that night. Fearfully, Celia locked herself into the house as soon as her parents left, checking every door and every window. She tried to laugh it off as she got into bed, and finally she shook off her irrational fear and fell asleep. Celia snapped awake suddenly, every muscle tense. She heard the tinkling of falling glass from a broken window, and the snuffling sound of a snout pressed to the floor. It was the sound of a hunting wolf. A werewolf. Real wolves did not break into houses when there was plenty of game outside. She could hear the click-clicking of the creature's claws on the wooden floor. The musky, foul smell of wet animal fur combined with the meaty breath of a carnivore, drifted into the room. She could hear the werewolf's panting right outside her bedroom. Then her body was out of bed and she sped through the bathroom and down the back stairs. She heard a soft growl and then the sound of animal feet pursuing her as she raced down the steps and tore open the back door. A glance at the window beside her showed a reflection of the werewolf leaping down the last few steps behind 's feet screamed in protest as she ran painfully across the sharp gravel driveway toward the tool shed with its shovels and baseball bats. Anything she could use as a weapon. But the huge, red-eyed wolf was suddenly between her and the toolshed, stalking toward her. The cold wind pierced her skin as she turned and fled around the side of the house. She gasped as the white wolf howled and took off after her. She could hear the terrifying sound of the creature's pounding feet. Faster, faster, she commanded her legs, panting desperately against the fear choking her. She would run around the house and back down the driveway, she thought with the clarity of sheer horror. She felt the wolf snap at her back leg and felt the sting of teeth. She put on speed. The wolf veered away from her suddenly, and she felt a rush of hope. She couldn't hear the wolf now, couldn't see it in the cloud-darkened night. She kept running around the house, heading back toward the tool shed. To her intense relief, she heard the sound of a car coming down the road in front of her house. Her parents were back and would save her from the wolf! Then her heart stopped in panic as she turned the last corner and saw the shape of the white wolf as it stood balanced on the porch railing right in front of her. It sprang upon Celia, huge teeth tearing into her flesh and ripping out her throat. She fell under the weight of its body, hot blood spilling all over the ground, and died seconds after she hit the ground. One minute later, her parent's car pulled into the driveway, its headlights blinding the white wolf as it pulled toward the house. Frightened, the wolf backed away from its kill and then ran away.


	3. The futur

**The Future**

She was nervous and excited as she approached the psychic's store. Normally, she didn't go in for fortune telling. But her best friend had visited the psychic a few months ago, and everything the woman had predicted came true. Everything! The new boyfriend, the new job, the marriage proposal, a small win in the local lottery. Obviously, the psychic was a genius!

The room she entered was surprisingly open and pleasant. She smelled coffee in the air, and fresh flowers were on a stand by the window. She smiled to herself. Somehow, she had pictured an old gypsy caravan and a dark-haired woman in flowing robes. But the pert, crisp woman approaching her did not look psychic at all.

They sat down at the table, and the woman did a reading of her palm. The psychic frowned a bit in concentration. Then the psychic asked if she would like a Tarot card reading too -- free of charge. That was different from what had happened to her best friend. For a moment she felt a trace of unease. Then she shrugged and said okay.

The psychic studied the cards carefully. Then she looked at her palm one more time. Finally, the psychic looked up into her eyes, realized that she was feeling nervous, and said soothingly: "Your future is very clear, my dear. I've recently changed my policies, and now put my predictions in a sealed envelope for my customers to read in the privacy of their homes. It is to show customers my credibility in the psychic arts -- that I am not "reading their expressions", but have truly seen something in the palm and cards."

She blinked a bit, but was impressed. It made sense, after a fashion. The psychic had asked her no questions at all, just read her palm and the cards. So any prediction she put in the envelope would be proof of her powers. The psychic hurried into a back room, where she could hear the faint sound of pen and paper. Then the woman returned with an envelope.

"Thank you," she said to the psychic, and shook her hand. Then she hurried out to the car, eager to get home and read the predictions in the envelope. What would they be? A rich husband? A career change? Travel to exotic places?

She had just pulled out into the fast lane on the highway when a semi-truck swerved to miss a careless sedan that pulled into the lane right in front of it. She had a single glimpse of a massive shape coming toward her when the truck slammed into her car, crushing it completely against the cement divider.

When the girl's body was removed from the wreckage, the envelope was found lying beside her. It was presented to her grieving parents, who opened it. The note inside contained four words: "You have no future."


	4. Sachs Bridge

**Sachs Bridge**

I don't know what exactly draws me back to Sachs Bridge each time I visit Gettysburg. I just know that I feel compelled to drive there and take pictures. Of course, it is a beautiful spot - a covered bridge that was used by the Confederate Army to cross the creek when they withdrew from Gettysburg . But after all, how many pictures can you take of the same place? Well, okay, if you're a photographer, that's a silly question! Hundreds in all weather, season, lighting… But really, I'm only an amateur, so why I personally felt compelled to record the bridge over and over was a mystery my boyfriend was obsessing about as he drove through the lightly falling snow on that evening in the late fall.

Of course, the bridge was supposed to be haunted, so that was definitely part of the draw it had for me. According to the legend, three Confederate soldiers convicted of being spies were hanged from beams in the covered bridge, and their bodies were discovered by Union soldiers patrolling the area. Their spirits were said to haunt the bridge, though other folks claimed they sometimes smelled General Lee smoking his pipe when they were standing on the bridge. I'd actually smelled pipe smoke there once myself, and that was one of the reasons I kept coming back to the haunted bridge.

As we came to the bridge, a chill blasted over my skin in spite of the warmth flowing into the car from the heater. The bridge, usually a friendly-spot, seemed sinister and dark. I felt uneasy, as if a foul presence was on the bridge that did not want us to intrude there.

"I changed my mind," I said quickly as my boyfriend stopped the car. "I don't want to take pictures here after all."

"What?!" my boyfriend practically screeched, staring at me in amazement. "After you made such a big fuss about it? After you forced me to look at every single solitary picture you ever took of this bridge before we came to Gettysburg? No way, honey! I could be back at the hotel drinking beer right now, but no! We had to come to the bridge! Out you get and take your photos!"

He was right, I guess. Silly to come all this way and not take the pictures. The bridge was lovely in the lightly falling snow. And I was terrified to step out on it. My hand shook as I reached for the door handle, and shook again as I secured my camera. Praying with all my might that whatever dark power was out there would leave me alone, I leapt out the door and aimed my camera practically at random down the length of the bridge. It was completely empty of everything but me and the car. But I could feel someone – a very nasty someone – standing right behind me, willing me to leave or die. Their presence throbbed at me in an almost physical way, and my skin crawled desperately. I didn't dare turn around. I couldn't. I just whirled my camera around, aimed it over my shoulder and snapped a picture – fast! Then I leapt back into the car before whoever – or whatever – decided to grab me, and gasped: "Get me out of here now!"

My boyfriend took one look at my white face filled with eye-popping terror and got me out of there now. I didn't stop shaking until we were safely back in our hotel room for the night.

When I loaded up the digital pictures on my laptop computer the next morning, I went immediately to the pictures of the Sachs Bridge, unsure of what I would see. In the first photo, a little boy in period costume stood an arm's length away from the camera. He was glaring at me with a twisted little face and an evil grin. He certainly hadn't been there when I took the picture, yet he looked solid enough to be real. Then I went to the next photo – the one I took over my shoulder without turning around. I gave a shriek of fear then which brought my boyfriend crashing into the room. "What is it?" he shouted, and I pointed a shaking finger at the screen of the laptop. Pictured on it was a filmy dark figure – half-human, half-beast – with blazing orange eyes filled with such menace and hatred that it made my stomach roil. He appeared so close to the camera that he must have been directly behind me. He looked like the Devil.

My boyfriend's eyes popped and he gasped: "Delete it. Delete it now!"

Yet how could I delete it? I had captured two pictures of ghosts on my camera. Was it worth the fright I'd had? I wasn't sure about that. Still, I couldn't delete them.


	5. Haunted xmas

**Haunted Christmas**

The soft thud of following footsteps echoed behind him as he hurried through the snowflakes toward home. They kept pace with him, quickening when he quickened and slowing when he slowed. It was creepy. His flesh crawled at the sound and he sped up, cursing himself for walking home alone from the midnight Christmas Mass.

Normally not a pious man, the middle-aged bachelor had suddenly been struck by a wish to hear the old Christmas songs sung once again by a church choir, and had walked across town to attend the service. Now he regretted his choice, as he passed dark house after dark house in the snowy night, and the footsteps ever followed.

He sped up until he was nearly running, and skidded into his street. A few more paces brought him to the bottom of his front steps, and as he dashed up them, he realized suddenly that the following footsteps had ceased abruptly. He glanced behind him at the cross-street from which he had just turned and saw only one pair of footprints in the snow-covered street when there should have been two. He frowned in puzzlement, and then shuddered as a cold breeze struck him, driving snow against his collar, and slammed against the door. Almost, it seemed to pass through the door, but that was superstitious nonsense. His hand was shaking as he unlocked the front door and hurried inside.

He expected darkness, but was delighted to see the yellow glow of firelight coming from his study doorway upstairs. His old housekeeper, whom he thought firmly asleep in her attic bedroom, must have lit the fire pending his return. He shrugged out of his coat and paused for a moment, amazed to find it still warm and dry, though he had walked for more than a mile through a snow-storm. It was almost as if he'd been walking in a bubble of calm air, though he remembered the soft snowflakes hitting his face when he first stepped out of church. Before the mysterious footsteps began…

His shudder was interrupted by a shout of greeting as his old friend Andy came hurrying out of the study. His whole face lit up in a grin at the unexpected surprise. The two men shook hands heartily and retreated back to the warmth of the firelight, talking so fast they stumbled over each other's words. Andy had left town years ago to take a government job in D.C., and they hadn't seen each other since.

Nearly an hour passed before it occurred to him that his guest might be hungry. His offer of a meal was instantly accepted, but Andy was unwilling to leave the comfort of the fire to eat in the kitchen, so he jogged downstairs alone to fetch some food. He didn't wonder at his friend's reluctance to join him in the kitchen. Andy had looked very pale and had kept shivering with cold while they talked. He hoped his friend wasn't ailing for anything.

A few moments later he was back with warmed up meat and potatoes and a couple of glasses of beer, apologizing profusely as he handed Andy a plate, for the mismatched dinnerware. Andy just laughed and hunkered down to eat. When they were both finished, he showed his friend to a guest room and then tumbled into his own bed to sleep, all his apprehension caused by mysterious footsteps forgotten in the visit of his friend.

He jumped out of bed Christmas morning and dashed immediately downstairs to the guest room to rouse his friend. Andy wasn't there, and the bed had not been slept in. That was odd. He ran down to look in the study, but Andy wasn't there either, and one plate full of food was sitting on the end-table beside his old friend's chair. It was completely untouched, though he'd seen Andy eating from it the night before! Skin creeping at the thought, he ran to the kitchen and asked his housekeeper if she'd seen Andy. But the housekeeper had seen no one either the previous night or this morning. He flopped down on the bottom step of the staircase, completely baffled. Where had Andy gone? It was a mystery that plagued him all Christmas Day, and he did not enjoy his holiday dinner at all, a fact that annoyed his housekeeper.

He was awakened the next morning from a restless sleep by the sound of the front door bell. He stumbled out of bed and was splashing water from the bedside pitcher onto his sleepy eyes when a knock came at his bedroom door. When he answered, his housekeeper handed him a telegram that had just arrived. As she hurried back downstairs to prepare his breakfast, he opened it curiously, not knowing who would be telegraphing him so urgently.

As he read the telegram, he started to tremble. The message was short and to the point: Andy's family regretted to inform him that his old friend Andy had passed away on Christmas Eve in his home in Washington D.C. He sat down hard on the bed, the telegram fluttering away from his hand. It must have been _Andy_ who had followed him home on Christmas Eve. That would explain the eerie footsteps and the dry coat in the middle of the snow storm. He'd spent Christmas Eve with a ghost!


	6. Crying insanity

Crying Insanity

When I was young my mom told me a story about the haunts she had met when she was younger. This one just got to be my favorite.

When my mom at the age of 20. She had 2 babies, my elder brothers. She could not survive on her own at that time so she moved to live with my aunt, her elder sister.

One night, after she put my elder brothers to bed, she went to get some coffee and stay up for a while. It was late in the night time and the only person who is awaking was my mom. While she was drinking her coffee, she heard the sound of babies crying, not just one, but many of them. She thought that was coming from her own kids, so she walked to the room to cool down her babies but it turned out that it wasn't her babies crying. So she thought about my aunt's two kids, they were just at the age of four and five at that time, however, they were sleeping too.

My mom started to wonder what was happening. She ran into kitchen, which led to my aunt's room and within this laundry room in the porch, and find out that the crying sounds was coming from three babies lying in the pile of clothes inside the laundry room. She shout out and ran away quickly, which any other people would do the same. The crying sounds stopped. Then she woke up my grandma and aunt to point out and tell them what had happened. However, they said they didn't hear anything.

Later on she told me some more about that night, while she was washing her coffee cup and prepare to sleep, she walked into the kitchen and just outside of the kitchen window she saw a lady, covered in a white aura, walking up the sky.


End file.
